Trilling Tales
by Beircheart
Summary: Fate threw Zokalaroo into the path of the only other being in the universe capable of understanding what it is like to be a completely unprepared host, Esri Dax, and when he needs to be rescued, she is the only one he can turn to.
1. Chapter 1

Braul Lon urgently flicked his fingers across the control panels of his shuttle craft. He was in a hurry to put as much space between him and Celestus 4 as possible. The Orion Syndicate had him and his companions marked for death and were at this very moment hunting them down. He didn't know how far behind them they were but suspected it was scant few steps.

Next to him sat Lohan Togota, fidgeting and wringing his hands. He was a fellow Trill but aside from that the two men had nothing in common. Where Braul was an honest, hard working security officer in service of the Trill government, Lohan had spent his life committing crimes against the Trill. Cutting a deal to turn on his Syndicate associates in return for protection and a new life may well have been the first honest thing he had done in decades even if his motives were self serving.

Lohan's son, Zokalaroo, was seated behind both the men in silent terror. He well understood the danger they were facing. Having spent all of his 12 years of life rubbing elbows with Syndicate mobsters he couldn't help but know the consequences should they be captured. Aware of this, Braul was impressed at the bravery and composure the boy was showing given their circumstances.

"How you holding up back there," Braul called over his shoulder.

"I'm fine," the boy answered in a thin, tight voice.

"The kid's good. You just concentrate on getting us out of here!" growled Lohan showing far less composure than his son.

Ignoring him Braul continued, "That's quite a name you've got. In tribute to the general I assume?"

"Yes. My mother told me he was my great-great-great-grandfather."

"I think you need a few more 'greats' tacked on. General Zokalaroo's time was a couple of thousand years ago. How can she be sure you are related?"

"The general was joined. His full name was Zokalaroo Goth. The Goth symbiont was tracked until it was killed in the Jotha War while joined to a man named Tyle. That was some 800 years after the era of Zokalaroo.

Tyle was survived by his wife and daughter and that daughter is my mother's link to the general."

"Sounds like your mother went to a lot of trouble to keep track of her genealogy. I'd love to hear more of it when we get back to Deep Space Nine."

Lohan let out a derisive sneer. "Stupid woman was always on about it."

"It was her dream that I'd be joined some day," added the boy ignoring his father's slighting of his mother.

Lohan let go another sneer.

"Don't like joined Trills?" Braul asked.

"Don't really care one way or another. I do think we Trills make way too much out of it. There's more to life that playing hostel for some worm."

"You do know I'm joined?" asked Braul.

A red light began to flash and a warning klaxon started to sound.

"Well I hope one of your past lives was as a combat pilot because we have about a dozen close range fighters looking to blast us to bits."

"Where did the Orion Syndicate get hardware like that?" barked Braul as he pulled the rear sensors online to get a look at his pursuers. The screen gave its readout and subsequently he gave a disgusted look at Lohan. "Those are Trill ships."

"You knew I wasn't a saint when you took this assignment," spat Lohan. "If I were I'd be of no interest to the ministry! As it is, they want to know who it was on the inside what gave me those ships. Not that it is going to matter in about twenty minutes because that's all we got left to our lives unless you get us out of here!"

"Hold on!" Braul yelled as he threw the small ship into a hard banking maneuver. Just off the starboard side a sudden flash lit the cabin and a shockwave jolted them all.

"That was a phase shifting quantum torpedo! Damn it! Computer! Drop shields. Divert all power to the engines!"

"Drop shields?" screamed Lohan it terror. "Are you insane?"

"Those torpedoes are designed to phase shift so that they penetrate any shielding," Braul snapped back. "Keeping our shields up is both useless and a waste of power. Now! Are there any other surprises I need know about?"

"No," answered Lohan dryly. Braul didn't believe him but didn't have the luxury of time to find out.

"Snatch Team to Defiant: We can't make the rendezvous. Need you to come to us!"

A static laden reply hissed through the shuttles speakers, "We picked up your pursuers on our sensors and are in route. We can not, repeat; can not get to you before you are overtaken. You will have to hold them off as best you can until we arrive."

"Damn it!" Braul swore again.

He flicked the screen controls in front of him and frantically searched the local systems for any sort of refuge. Finding the nearest hospitable site, a jungle moon orbiting Celestus 8, he set in a course at maximum speed.

"That course is taking us away from our rescue! What are you playing at?" bellowed Lohan again.

"You heard them. We won't link up in time. However, if we can get to that moon not only can we keep them from surrounding us totally but, if it goes badly, we will at least have the slim chance of going down on a life supportable surface."

"You are insane. You're going to get us all killed," yelled Lohan but Braul was paying him no heed.

"Zokalaroo, remember where I showed you the emergency supplies were kept? I need you to dump the stuff you took from your home and cram as much of those supplies as you can into our duffle bags."

"You intend on landing flat out. By the gods, you've lost your mind!"

"Lohan," snapped Braul, "I have had a belly full of your whining! You will either follow my orders or I'll beam you over to the nearest Orion ship as a bribe to let us go."

"They'll never go for that!" scoffed the criminal, knowing his former comrades all too well.

"Probably not, but it might just buy us a few minutes and in the peace and quiet of your absence maybe I will be able to come up with a better plan."

Something in his tone told Lohan that Braul meant every word he had just spoken and, defeated, went to help his son stuff their small packs with supplies.

Suddenly the ship lurched and the cabin was a spectacle of sparks and smoke.

"We've been hit. Lost all primary control functions. Secondary thrusters still online."

"Will they be enough to land us safely?" croaked Zokalaroo.

"We are about to find out. Sit down and hold on!"

The next few moments were chaos. Braul struggled to remain at the controls as long as possible while Zokalaroo slammed and bounced off the cabin walls and surfaces like a rubber ball. Lohan was screaming in terror one moment then became unnervingly silent.

Forcing himself off the floor of the shuttle craft Braul clutched his side and wheezed an ineffectual breath. Inside his head one of his past hosts who had been a physician informed him he had broken ribs and a pierced lung. His time in this life was coming to an end. He had to find another host immediately!

Looking to his left he saw that Lohan's life had already left him. The only remaining chance the symbiont had was the boy. Staggering through the wreckage of the cabin Braul found him unconscious and bleeding from the nose and mouth. A quick inspection, as thorough as his dying body would permit, showed that aside from some heavy bruises and minor cuts, the boy was well enough.

Dragging himself to the packs Zokalaroo had prepped he retrieved water and a medi-kit. Dousing the boy's face to revive him drained what little strength he had left and he sunk back against the wall. Either the boy would wake in time or he wouldn't.

The passing seconds before the boy's eyelids fluttered seemed to the dying Trill to be hours. He was relieved to see that once conscious the child was alert and despite being beaten and bruised, was still in control of his faculties.

"Good boy!" wheezed Braul.

"My father?" the boy asked.

"Dead," answered Braul flatly not having time to soften the blow but somehow doubting it was all that severe to begin with.

"Listen, Zokalaroo. I'm dying too."

"Zoka. Everyone just calls me Zoka," the boy interrupted with tears welling in his eyes.

"I'd forgotten. Ok. Zoka. There is nothing that can be done to help me now. What is important is that my symbiont survives. You are the only Trill left. Will you accept it?"

"I didn't think kids could stand the stress of being joined."

"Nonsense," scoffed Braul attempting to keep the boys spirits up. "Long ago in our history, orphan children were the preferred hosts. The symbionts chose their next host then became the parent to the child, raising them to be exactly who the symbiont wanted or needed them to be. It is a practice long, and I think happily, forgotten by our people."

"What do I have to do?" Zoka stammered unsure of himself.

"Well, I'm not going to lie to you. It takes a lot of courage and is painful. See, today we transfer the symbiont in a surgical sort of way. Back then, well, the old host and the new one slit their own stomachs open and then the new host lay on top of the old allowing the symbiont to leave one body and crawl into another."

"You are joking!" cried the child horrified.

"Zoka, I wish I were. Yes, the joining is traumatic. After, however, I can promise you a life you can't even dream of. And, there is a fantastic surprise waiting for you after you are joined I think you will especially like."

"All my life my mother taught me that a host's life is meaningless compared to that of a symbiont," Zoka said while dreamily swaying to and fro.

"Hey! Stay with me kid. You can't be slipping in and out of shock here. You've got to keep your wits or we are both dead. The Orion Syndicate will soon find where we went down and send a hit squad. If we are to do this it has to be now!"

"Let's do it then," Zoka said his voice now rock steady.

"You are one brave little soldier! First, take off your shirt and help me with mine. Now, open the medi-kit and find the laser scalpel. I'll slit my belly so you can see how it is done."

Zoka handed the surgical tool to Braul who without hesitation set it to a frighteningly deep incision depth and made a horizontal slice running from side to side at the base of his rib cage. Blood spurted violently out of the gash initially then oozed with each beat of the dying mans heart.

"Zoka, look!"

Braul hooked his thumb under the skin he had just separated and with a grimace pulled it down just enough to expose a dingy white and bloody thing that was wiggling it's way out of the newly made hole in the man's flesh.

"OK Zoka. It is now or never. The symbiont has detached itself from me and now we are both dying."

Zoka looked at the ugly white bug inching its way out of Braul's blood soaked belly. He wanted to run out of the shuttle and get away. He felt himself gag as the impulse to vomit struck him hard. Overriding his instincts to flee was the knowledge that this was a symbiont. His entire culture revolved around their preservation. This worm may have been alive for hundreds of years. Was it to die now simply because he didn't have the courage to cut the hole in his flesh that would save it?

He trembled as he took the glowing scalpel out of Braul's hand. Tears in anticipation of the pain were flowing out of his eyes as he brought the laser blade close to his soft skin. With a deep breath and using too much force, though needed to prevent his fear from staying his hand, Zokalaroo drove the searing blade into his flesh. Cutting across his stomach his lips opened and his teeth clenched in a silent grimace of anguish until he dropped the tool unable to continue.

"That's good enough. You did great, Zoka!" soothed Braul. "Now, lay across my chest and pull the wound open to let it in like you saw me do to let it out. Zoka? It is going to hurt a lot when the symbiont enters and attaches. After that you will be dazed but listen, you have got to pay attention to the others that will be in your head. They will keep you alive.

"All right, pull it open and lay down so it can crawl in. That's it. Good boy."

Braul's voice was fading into a whisper. Zoka knew the man was dying but the agony he was feeling as the symbiont entered his belly made that and all else meaningless. It was pain such as he had never dreamed could be inflicted on a body. Suddenly the pain was not so much gone but distorted by the roar of thousands thunderously cheering inside his head.

*It is finished, Zoka,* Braul's voice spoke into the boy's mind above the others.

"Braul?" yelled the boy, "I thought you were dead."

*****My body is dead. My memories live on in you.*

*We don't have time for this,* snarled another voice. *Grab a dermal regenerator, a weapon or two, and get out of here!*

"A der…dermal what?" Zoka wearily asked aloud again.

*In the medi-kit, lad* a third voice, much kinder and soothing, explained. *And a wee stimulant too, I think.*

Zoka opened the kit again and instinctively drew out the right tools.

*That's right!* affirmed the gentle voice after the stimulant was administered. *You can repair the damage later. Just keep your arm tight over that flap in your belly so we don't plop out.*

A hundred voices laughed in Zoka's mind.

*Silence!* roared yet another voice. This one was full of power and authority.

The other voices died down instantly. In more patient tones yet just as commanding the voice continued, *All right little soldier, you need to get moving. We are going to talk you through setting the phaser rifles to overload in cascade. Then you will take a pack and hand phasers and run into the jungle as fast as you can.*

*Why not take the rifles?* objected several voices. *They are more powerful!*

*The boy is too small and is injured. It's not practical. He can't leave the supplies to lighten the load because that open gash is bound to get infected on this mud hole of a moon,* answered the cool commanding voice. No other objection was made.

Without understanding what he was doing Zoka rigged the booby trap and ran out of the shuttle and into the dense jungle. He had just dodged behind a mossy tree when an orange flash of light whizzed by his ear and exploded just where he would have been had he not abruptly changed direction, though he didn't know what made him do so.

"Put that away," growled a deep raspy voice behind him.

Zoka turned to look around the massive tree trunk and saw a Nausican squaring off against a human. "The Orion Syndicate doesn't murder children. Either this hellish moon will conquer the boy or the boy will conquer the moon. Neither outcome is of any concern to the Syndicate. We just need to make sure that the traitor and the lawman are both dead."

Zoka turned his face back to the tangled jungle ahead of him and pushed ahead. He had scarcely taken a dozen steps when the shuttle exploded with a force that shook the earth and rattled the trees. Birds and arboreal animals burst into retreat from the sound and somewhere to his right a large cat like creature crashed through the underbrush abandoning its plan to have Zoka for its supper.

*That should buy us plenty of time,* the gentle voice in his head said.

*Agreed!* answered the voice of power. *Zoka, listen to Braxsim. He'll tell you how to heal that hole in your gut.*

"Who are you?" Zoka asked aloud obviously addressing the authoritative voice.

Gentle laughter rumbled through the boys mind but the voice rose above it jovially, *Me? Unless I am mistaken, I'm the great surprise Braul promised you, little soldier. I am General Zokalaroo Goth, your famous grand sire."

* * *

"What do you make of it, Doctor?" Commander Kira Naris asked, "And if all you tell me is,'There was an explosion,' I just may blow up!"

"Well," drawled Dr. Bahsier, "There _was_ an explosion." He eyes twinkled with mischief as he paused just long enough for Commander Naris' blood to begin to boil.

"_And_," he continued in his aristocratic drawl, "there is too much Trill bio-debris for one life form so I am going to say there were two. Furthermore, there are bits of Nausican over there and some human DNA over here."

"You said two Trills. We were expecting three: two men and a small boy. Any way to determine more about the dead Trills?"

"I can't tell you much more without a detailed analysis of the debris. Based solely on quantity of biomaterial it really depends on how big the men were and how small the boy was. All three could be scattered around here. There just no way of knowing at this point."

"I find it unusual that the shuttle would simply explode so violently on impact like this," Kira said to herself more than to any particular member of the away team.

"Oh! She didn't go off because of the impact." Chief Miles O'Brien interjected rising from where he had been squatting amongst the charred ruins of the ship.

"Explain," commanded Kira.

"These Trill shuttles are built a lot like our Federation Runabouts. They are designed specifically not to explode in crash scenarios."

"But it could happen?"

"Not likely, and not like this. See, the epicenter of the explosion is away from all likely candidates for causing such a catastrophe. It didn't start in the core or engines. This explosion started in the weapons locker. Those weapons are stored disabled.

"The only possible explanation is somebody rigged the phaser rifles to overload. Judging from the force it had to be the rifles and not hand phasers and I'd swear they had been linked together somehow to maximize the effect."

"Let's try to piece this together," Kira said. "We know three Trills were on the shuttle. It's a pretty safe bet the Nausican and the human were Syndicate. Somebody had to rig the trap for them so at least one Trill was still alive but killed himself just to take out the Syndicate thugs?"

"It's what I'd do. From my experience with the Orion Syndicate, I know I'd rather die than be taken alive if they had a grudge against me," O'Brien offered.

"There may have been another explanation besides avoiding capture," Dr. Bashier called from the edge of the jungle surrounding them.

"You found something?" Kira asked.

"Trill blood going away from the crash site. Looks like someone survived. The booby trap bought time to escape and this time, Commander, I can tell you it was the boy."

"How do you know?"

"If it were either of the men, there would be higher concentrations of Trill testosterone in the blood samples. As the testosterone levels in this blood are minute…"

"Our survivor is a prepubescent boy," Kira summed up.

"Exactly!" beamed the doctor.

"Kira to Defiant!"

"Defiant here! Go ahead Commander."

"Dax, begin a full sensor sweep starting from the crash site and radiating out. We are looking for a badly wounded 12 year old boy in a savage jungle. I want him found before nightfall."

"We're on it," confirmed Ezri Dax.

Turning to the security detail Kira continued to give orders, "You two track that blood trail to its source. Be careful! There may be more Orion Syndicate agents out there. Doctor, you go with them. If that boy is out there and loosing blood, he'll need you.

"Chief, you're with me. I want to find those Orion Syndicate ships."

The two parties walked off in opposite directions. It was only a matter of moments before Kira and O'Brien discovered one of the stolen Trill fighter craft.

"They didn't bother to hide it did they?" scoffed Kira.

"No, Commander. I guess they didn't feel they needed to or that they'd be here very long."

Pausing to look around he asked, "I wonder, where's the other ship gone?"

"Other ship?" asked major Kira.

"These ships are light fighters; single occupant craft?" O'Brien explained as he moved to inspect the remaining ship. "There was a Nausican _and_ a human at the crash site. We are missing one ship."

"You're right," confirmed Kira, squatting amongst the tall grasses, "I can see the imprint of a second ship here. You think the boy managed to fly it out of here?"

"Anything's possible, Commander, but that would be a fine bit of piloting for a kid to accomplish. These single fighter craft are tricky to fly. It takes a well trained pilot."

"Kira to Bashir. Any luck locating that boy?" the Major called into her communications badge.

"No luck at all," called a nearby voice out of the jungle not bothering with a com badge. Moments later Dr. Bashir and the security team strode into the makeshift landing zone.

"Report," Kira commanded.

"We followed the blood trail. There was a lot of it and it wasn't hard to track. Then the blood trail pooled under a tree. We can only assume the boy stopped there."

"Assume? Why assume?"

"Because," drawled the doctor, "that's where the blood trail ended. There was no sign of struggle, no indication that an animal drug him off. There were only these," and he held up two medical devices.

"Well the one is obviously a hypo..."

"With residue of a common stimulant," embellished Bashir.

"And the other?"

"It is the Trill version of a dermal regenerator. My guess is whoever stopped, repaired the boy's wound then discarded these and pressed on."

"Wait. Doctor! You are talking like there was more than one person walking away from that crash site."

"That is the only logical explanation I can think of. That much blood would only come from a pretty serious wound. Its treatment would be a bit more complex than simply following instructions from a field medicine guide. It would require a practiced and educated hand. An adult hand."

"So, we are back up to two people! But there were only three on board the shuttle to begin with, two of whom were blasted to bits. And, only one single-seat ship missing." Kira reviewed frustrated.

"I suppose it's like Julian said earlier," offered O'Brien. "It would depend on the size of the boy. It is possible he could have squeezed onto the lap of an adult in one of these fighters. Tight fit, but not impossible. Maybe there was a fourth passenger on that shuttle."

"Kira to Dax," she impatiently called into her com badge again.

"Go ahead, Commander," Ezri responded.

"We've got a tangled mystery down here. Any luck with the scan?"

"We've gone out 50 miles in a tight band sweep. No other life forms have shown up, aside from those you'd expect in a jungle."

"OK. What about a ship leaving the surface?"

"Not since we've been in orbit."

"I didn't think so. We've done all we can down here. Beam us back up then tow the fighter with a tractor beam.

"O'Brien, I want you to go over the sensor logs for the past few hours and see if you can find that other blasted ship.

"Energize!"


	2. Chapter 2

Two Months Later

Zoka walked down the promenade of the space station with the appearance of nonchalance but inside he was riddled with trepidations. It had been nearly eight days since he deserted the freighter on which he was indentured. It had reached his goal destination of Deep Space Nine, known throughout the quadrant simply as DS9, and he had no intention of fulfilling his term of servitude one second longer.

Six of those days he spent in hiding. Not willing to risk bumping into any of his former crew mates he hunkered down and waited for them to leave on their next run. He therefore slipped into the deepest levels of the station, those off limits to all civilian inhabitants of DS9 and where the crew seldom had cause to visit. Once his old ship was gone, he emerged ravenous and thirsty.

On the few foraging excursions he made while in hiding he learned that the real hub of activity on the station was a place called Quark's Bar. It was there that nearly all the station's secrets were common knowledge and anything, be it legitimate or otherwise, could be found. He also learned that none of it was available useless those desires were backed by gold pressed latinum. It was to the acquisition of that currency Zoka now turned his small hands.

*You enjoy thieving and pick-pocketing a bit too much, if you ask me,* the pious voice of Mother Elop, a past host who was a convent headmistress in life, whispered in Zoka's mind.

Zoka liked her. She was rigid, true enough, but she was also fair and for the most part kept out of his head.

*No one _did_ ask now did they?*

That was the pirate Plax. Zoka liked him too, but was very wary of Plax's advice. He had too much in common with his father's old Orion Syndicate comrades to be trusted. Still, when it came to stealing, the pair made an excellent team for while Plax had a master thief's skills, Mother Elop kept him from being greedy and taking unnecessary risks. Also, and Zoka was undecided if this were really a boon, she made him feel a little guilty about it.

"Hey!" a voice startled him suddenly.

Looking around and quickly stuffing a heavy money purse he had just lifted delicately off a passerby into his own pocket, Zoka saw that the voice belonged to a young and pretty Bajoran girl tending a booth which sold native snacks.

"Hey what?" he called back sharply.

*Gently, son. Gently.*

Zoka didn't know who that was and what's more he didn't care. In the short time he was joined he had learned that there were many fantastic advantages to having so many past life experiences to draw upon. There were times, however, when they felt more like voyeurs and were decidedly unwelcome.

"I was just wondering if you were hungry," explained the girl.

*Oh-ho! She's a fine one!* crowed Plax. *You should steal her away to that little nest of ours down below and see if you can't win a kiss or three off 'er!*

Though he had grown accustomed to replying to the past hosts with his mind, he still sometimes caught himself answering aloud. Unfortunately, he did so on this occasion and he growled at Plax, "Not now!"

"I'm sorry," said the girl obviously offended.

Zoka walked over so the two no longer needed to shout across the walkway at each other. "What I meant was, I'm not hungry just now. Sorry if it sounded rude from way over there. I just…"

"You just thought you were caught picking that man's pocket?" she interrupted.

The experience of a thousand lifetimes told him he was caught at it and lying would be futile and would only serve to make him look ridiculous.

"You gonna tell?"

"That depends. You going to buy something to eat?" she grinned mischievously.

"Sure. I'll have one of those meat pie things."

As she was fetching his food he continued talking, "You have a quick eye."

"During the occupation I lived on the streets where I learned to pick pockets myself. I was never as good as you though. That's a Beeta Pie, by the way. Very spicy."

"Stealing's nothing to be proud of," Zoka said hastily, hearing Mother clicking her tongue disapprovingly in his head. "It is just something you do if you have to."

"Oh! I know that," she said watching him take a big bite of his pie and opening a bottle of cold monji juice. Slowly his face became berry red and giggling she handed him the juice. "Told you it was spicy!"

"Yes, you did," he coughed and laughed simultaneously. Once he could speak again he introduced himself.

"And I'm Paja Naom," she replied.

"Nice to meet you, Paja."

She giggled again saying, "You haven't been here long have you? On Bajor, the surname comes first then the familiar name."

"Sorry," he said. "Nice to meet you, Naom."

He turned to leave when it occurred to him to ask, "Say, Naom? What do you know about Quark's?"

She looked at him curiously then said, "I know it's a bar for adults and I'm still considered a child. I've never been in. I know the Ferengi who runs it is security crazy and can be very nasty to thieves, especially if they operate in his place. I also know that none of that really matters if you have enough latinum."

"That's what I heard too. Thanks."

"Zoka," she said sounding genuinely concerned, "whatever business you have with Quark you need to understand: he operates at a level well above picking pockets on the promenade. You do what you have to but be careful."

Zoka smiled, "See you around Naom."

That evening he milled around the shops and kiosks until Quark's was full and buzzing. He slipped in and took a seat at the bar. In a matter of seconds, a small Ferengi trotted up to him and took his order then shifted off. Zoka watched as the bartender said something into a larger and more flamboyantly dressed Ferengi's ear. This second Ferengi then placed a mug filled with a frothy brown substance onto a tray and came toward him.

"Here's you drink," said the Ferengi slapping the mug down harshly.

"That doesn't look like fermented Venishian dragon's milk," observed Zoka.

"It's not. It is an Earth drink my nephew favors called root beer. I don't serve intoxicants to minors."

"So you must be Quark, yes?"

"That's right. And this is my bar. And I don't like unaccompanied children in my bar."

"That's a shame, Quark, because I was hoping we could get better acquainted," Zoka said laying several gold pressed latinum coins onto the bar's surface.

"Aha," Quark stammered, torn between greed and conscience. "Just why would I find it in my best interest to be your acquaintance?" Finding his footing again he said, "Commander Kira, who runs this station, would have me put out and airlock if she even suspected I served liquor to a minor."

Zoka took a long drink of the root beer before cooing, "I'm not interested in alcohol. I'm after information," and he placed three more coins on the bar.

"Ummm….What kind of... ahhhh… information," Quark stuttered caressing his ear lobes and looking at the now attractive mound of latinum growing out of his bar."

"I simply want a name." Another coin was placed on the bar.

"Someone who can guide me," another coin went down, "to the Orion Syndicate," and three more coins clinked onto the heap.

In a breaths' time Quark swept all the latinum off the bar and into his pocket as he cordially welcomed two Federation officers who took up seats next to Zoka.

"Dr. Bashir! Counselor! The usual?"

The two officers consented but the doctor seemed less enthusiastic than his companion as he cast a quizzical glance toward the boy next to them.

"Yes, Doctor. I was just lecturing this young hooligan on the dangers of drinking and gambling at such an inappropriate age. Perhaps, being station's counselor, you'd like to talk to him too, Dax?"

"Dax?" Zoka asked.

"That's right. I'm Counselor Ezri Dax. Who might you be? I didn't know there were other Trills on the station at the moment."

"There aren't, that I know of. I mean I'm by myself. Maybe we could go to your quarters and I can tell you the whole sad story privately?"

Dr. Bashir choked on his beverage.

"Maybe you should try to pick up girls your own age? Or better yet, wait a few years," scolded Dax.

"My own age, huh?" teased Zoka nodding his head with tongue in cheek. "So, if I were a bit older, that line might have stood a chance?"

Ezri crinkled her nose and playfully pouted as she shook her head negatively.

"No? Well. Can I try again? Please!" Zoka begged playfully.

With an indulgent sigh Ezri turned to face him. "Alright. But after this, you answer my questions and no more games. Agreed?"

"After this, I'll answer any question you have!"

He tenderly took her hand and looking into the depth of her eyes softly said, "All I can offer you are the star-jewels of the night sky; the endless ocean of space; and the enslavement of my heart to your happiness and if you would but place me in that bondage, my loving soul shall forever know freedom."

Dr. Bashir craned his neck to stare at the strange little boy next to Dax for, while the poetry may have been trite, the sound of the boy's voice convinced him that whoever this youngster was, he meant ever word he had just spoken and despite his young years, meant it passionately.

Dax's face lost all expression. Her cheeks were flushed. She swallowed hard before muttering a barely audible, "I've got to go, Julian."

"You have got to be joking!" he objected in confused amazement but she had already gone.

She walked out of Quarks with the boy at her side then, driving Julian's disbelief to even greater heights, the two joined hands and headed off toward the crew quarters.

"Must be somebody she knows," Quark laughed nervously after which he made himself extremely scarce.

"Nice quarters Dax," Zoka observed as they entered her rooms.

"Who told you to say that to me?" she snapped thrusting his hand out of hers ignoring his small talk.

"Palo."

"Palo died two hundred sixty three years ago. Now if you don't start giving me answers I'm going to call security. Who gave you those words to say?"

"Palo did. Dax, Palo was a secretly joined Trill. He carried the Goth symbiont I now carry."

"That's it! I'm calling security."

Zoka moved casually to the replicator and ordered, "Bothian Moonflower mead."

When the drink appeared he removed the cool, blue-glass goblet from the machine and presented it to Ezri.

"That is your favorite, isn't it, Lela?"

"Lela Dax died four years before Palo. I'm Ezri Dax!"

"Ezri may be who you are now, but I know who you were. I know the exact date you died. We were married fifty one years and made three beautiful children. How could I not know! And I also know about that one odd shaped spot right next to your…"

"Stop!" shouted Ezri blushing.

"It is true. Palo was joined, Beloved."

"Don't call me that. That was between Lela and Palo. I'm Ezri and your, what? Eleven?"

"Twelve! Almost thirteen!" Zoka objected with puffed up indignation.

"I need to sit down," sighed Ezri as she took a large mouthful of mead.

She surveyed the boy who took a seat at the other end of her divan.

Finally she spoke, "I still can't believe it. My…Lela's…husband of over fifty years kept such a secret from me…her. Oh! I don't know if I'll ever get used to being joined!"

"You haven't been joined very long then?" asked Zoka.

"No," she replied flatly.

"Longer than me, I'll bet. I've been joined for less than three months."

"I can't imagine what it's like for you, being so young," she sympathized.

"From what they tell me…"

"They?" she asked to which Zoka tapped one of his temples.

"The previous hosts talk to you? Actually talk?" she asked.

"Yes. They are telling me now that joining is different for children than it is for adults. It has something to do with the Mengrid Cortex in the Trill brain. Though its function isn't totally understood, in adults it allows the symbiont to share past lives as memories but before it is fully developed, as it is in us kids, they come across as people talking."

"Sorry, but that sounds dreadful," Ezri said.

"You get used to it. I'm sure you had to get used to every topic bringing up dozens of different and conflicting memories."

"So they just blurt out stuff depending on what you are experiencing?" she asked with a disgusted expression.

"No. It is much more one sided than that. The symbiont is in total control of what I get told and by which previous host, though some of the more dynamic hosts can blurt out from time to time if what I am feeling deeply moves them to it. For example, when I brought up that funny looking spot by your…"

"Yes! I know the one!" blushed Ezri holding her hand up in a pleading gesture for him to not go any farther. "Please stop talking about it!"

"Well," grinned Zoka who, Ezri noticed, was also very pink in his cheeks as he continued, "you knew exactly what I was referring to. That memory is shared and available anytime you want or need it.

"I, on the other hand, had to be told by Palo. If I just wanted to know and didn't really need that knowledge I'm certain I'd be denied access to it.

"Here's another example. I know many previous hosts visited Risa but Goth, the symbiont, won't allow me to know what they did there. Sometimes I actually try to concentrate solely on that topic when I want them all to shut up for a while," Zoka smiled broadly, reminding Ezri of a child sharing a secret trick played on a parent. She didn't know how she should feel but one thing was certain. She felt very sorry for him.

"Is that all they do?" she asked as if investigating a case of child abuse.

"Not quite," he answered. He rose and again addressed the replicator, "Fermented Venishian dragon's milk!"

A highly polished lava-rock drinking vessel shimmered in the dispensation chamber. The glass' steaming contents were producing a strong hard-alcohol scent which rapidly filled Dax's quarters.

"Somebody in my head really wants a drink of this stuff," Zoka said, "and their craving is filling me with a dreadful desire to try it! It's probably Plax."

Zoka chuckled a little before drawing the glass toward his lips. Ezri slid to the edge of her seat in indecision. She was stuck between the two options of allowing a young boy swallow a near hallucinogenic strength liquor and wanting to see where this demonstration was heading.

As she watched, the glass stopped its progress toward his mouth and his hand and arm began to shake as if with tremors. He clearly was struggling to take a drink and just as clearly was being physically prevented. It was only when the shaking became so severe that the beverage began to slosh out of the goblet and onto the carpet did the boy relent.

"And that was Ton. And a few others," Zoka breathed obviously worn out from the straining effort he had just displayed.

"So the symbiont can control everything you do?"

"Not exactly. It has next to no control over what I do, but far more control over stopping me from doing small things it doesn't want me to do. That way the symbiont gathers more varied life experiences."

Ezri dind't know how she felt about that. It sounded like slavery to her and that perspective clashed hard against the respect she always afforded the symbionts as enlightened creatures. While sorting that conflict in her mind she off handedly asked, "Who are Plax and Ton?"

"Plax was a space pirate from the twenty third century. Ton you probably know. Ton Yuti."

"Ton Yuti? The moral philosopher? That Ton Yuti?"

"That's him. But there never was a Yuti symbiont. Just Goth under an assumed name."

"But why? Why all the deception?"

"Ezri, who is the oldest known symbiont?"

"That would be the Lux. She is cherished and revered by all of Trill!"

"Yes, I'm sure she is. But what is the driving force in a symbiont's life?"

"To experience as many lives and gain as much knowledge as possible."

"Exactly. So what hapapens to Lux after three of four lifetimes of its being the oldest known symbiont and the prize of out race? Where's the growth, the new experiences? Goth has already lived that life, through several hosts. He moved on. And there are many just like him. Most of the really, really old symbionts do join in secret."

"So, just how old is Goth?" Ezri asked starting to sound dazed.

"My first host has no recollection of time, it was so long ago. He was a gigantic warlord from the forests of the North Country. His people's wooden ships had just begun to brave the open oceans. He wore animal skins and hunted with bow and spear. That's all I can tell you. Even the symbiont has forgotten his name."

"I just remembered!" Ezri exclaimed suddenly. "I was so mad when we first came in I forgot to ask who you were."

"I am glad you forgot. If you had asked me that first, you would have been convinced I was crazy. My name is Zokalaroo Goth."

"The general? No, I mean who are _you_?"

"That's what I mean. My mother christened me Zokalaroo twelve years ago on Celestus 4 where I was born, the general being an actual ancestor of mine. My becoming a host to the Goth symbiont was purely by chance. The fact that my mother named me in honor of a previous host was fate having a laugh."

"Zokalaroo, what am I to do with you?" Ezri asked exasperated.

"You can call me Zoka. Everyone does. And, if it is all right with you I'd really like to stay here tonight."

"Where have you been staying?" she asked.

"I'm not telling," he flatly stated while eyeing her cautiously.

"But it is not very nice?"

"No, it's OK. It's just that, while I'm never alone," he tapped his head again, "I am a bit lonely.

I know I'm not Palo and you're not Lela and the symbiont isn't going to allow me to know most of what the two of them shared, but I can still feel some of the love the two had for each other and, well…" Zoka stammered into silence.

"…and it's been a long time since you've felt loved?"

"I'm just being a big baby!" growled Zoka in prepubescent bravado.

"Not at all! You are just being twelve," soothed Ezri as she rose from her seat and hugged him. It was the first time since his joining that he felt he had any privacy. Not a single voice spoke in is mind and the symbiont totally withdrew from him. He was allowed to simply feel and enjoy peace as, to his surprise, he softly sobbed in Ezri's arms.

The stayed up all night talking about their lives since their days together as Lela and Palo until Ezri eventually did the only thing natural and that was inviting him to stay permanently with her.

"The last thing I need is another parent! And somehow I just don't see us as lovers."

Throughout the evening she had grown accustomed to his rye whit and they both chuckled at what earlier would have brought her indignation.

"What I could use," he continued, "is a big sister to whom I can talk about being joined without preparation or about anything really but who will turn a blind eye as I do, well, whatever."

"Speaking as someone who is already a sister," she said scornfully, "I can't promise to that whole blind eye bit. But I do know sisters keep their brother's secrets, generally. So, as long as you aren't breaking any laws…"

Zoka shot her his own scornful look, "Ok! Sheesh! My point is, you'll have to trust me."

Over the next few days everybody came to accept that Ezri's visitor was her youngest brother. Everyone, that is, except Quark who had the good sense to not ask any questions and Dr. Bashir who demonstrated the good manners to leave it at Ezri's explanation of, "It's complicated."

Evenings were spent dining in the company of Ezri and her colleagues. Zoka particularly liked Dr. Bashir and teased her that he'd make a fine boyfriend. Playing tit-for-tat she ribbed him about spending his days hanging around the Bajoran snack stand and talking to Naom.

Becoming suddenly serious one evening in their quarters he asked, "How old were you when you when you first kissed a boy?"

She sputtered into her mead, "Why don't you ask Elop or better yet, Ton?"

"That's Ok. I'll just ask Plax."

"THIRTEEN!" she abruptly shouted, "And don't ask _him_ for any advice when it comes to girls!"

"Thirteen," he repeated softly to himself. She saw that he was in earnest; that his cheeks were blushed pink; that this was difficult for him; and that he needed his sister. What ahd somehow eluded her all this time finally struck her hard. While the symbiont might be thousands of years old, Zoka was still only twelve.

They talked for many hours after which he said flatly, "Sis, I am going to leave soon."

She stared into her goblet, "So it's a goodbye kiss we've been talking about."

"I think so."

"When?"

"I don't want to say when or where I'm going. You'd just try and stop me and then I'd have to thwart you at it and we would be against each other. I don't want that. So one day you'll just find me gone."

"Is this what you want or what Goth wants you to do?"

"Both. You are the last one to whom I need explain how complicated it can be."

Three Months Later

Commander Kira emerged from her office in response to Chief O'Brien's call.

"What is it, Chief?"

"I've got a priority one message coming in on a Starfleet high security channel. It is scrambled in such a way as to defeat any attempt to trace its point of origin."

"I'll take it in my office, but shouldn't you have just patched it through?"

"That's just it, Commander. Protocol says I notify the station commander, but the message is for Dax!"

"Dax?" she turned to look at Ezri questioningly. "You can use my office if you like."

"No. That's Ok," she said looking confused. "It was sent to OPS so let it play in OPS."

"On screen," stated O'Brien.

"Hi, Sis!"

"Zokalaroo!" she said reproachfully. "What are you doing on a top secret channel?"

"Just thought I'd check in. I will be out of touch for a while and this will be my last opportunity. I wanted you to know I was Ok."

"Hold on just a minute," objected Kira. "You mean you hijacked a top security frequency just so you could catch up with your sister?"

"If you check with Starfleet they will confirm that nothing irregular has happened without confirming anything happened at all."

"Black ops, you mean?" asked O'Brien.

"Black ops!" Ezri cringed. "Zoka what have you gotten yourself into?"

"Like I'm going to answer that! You'll hear from me again in a year or less."

"A year! Zoka, you are going to drive me crazy!"

"It'll be Ok. Oh! If you should happen to be hungry for Beeta Pie, tell Naom I'll be back for my _second_ one as soon as I can."

Ezri smiled broadly, "So how was your first?"

"Spicy! Worth remembering for a thousand years!"

"I'm glad."

"Got to run, Sis. I'll contact you as soon as I can."

"Be careful Zokalaroo! DS-9 out."

"What was that?" ranted Kira. "Secured messages used for family chit-chat! Black ops! And I've had Beeta Pie. It's not that special! Will somebody tell me what is going on?"

"Sorry, Commander. Sister-Brother secret!"

"A Sister-Brother secret, huh? In that case you can tell me all about it tonight at Quark's! You're buying!" Kira grinned at playing the same trick on Dax as Sisko had done on several occasions to herself and strode back into her office.


	3. Chapter 3

The Next Day

Zokalaroo clambered into the disarmed torpedo shell and hunkered down for what he knew was to be a miserable ride. The black-ops team manning the Federation ghost vessel on which he was being transported had prepared him as best they could with hologram simulations but they also assured him that the holo-training didn't do justice to the real thing. Oddly enough, he couldn't find a single team member who had actually done an insertion this way. Those who seemed well-versed on the tactic just smiled knowingly without sharing what that knowledge was.

"OK, Chimp! We are GO in 15 minutes. Star Fleet has managed to clear the way with the planet's authorities so they'll look the other way. That doesn't mean nobody else is watching the skies so we still do it like we planned," confirmed Chief.

This moniker of 'Chief' wasn't a title of rank in his case. Rather, it was his job. He was the top man of the team. Zoka found it awkward, calling people by their tasks rather than names. Beyond awkward to the point of irritating was the team's seeming discomfort with knowing his real identity. That unease went so far as his being tagged 'Chimp' in the initial briefing with Chief and Sniper, who was the second in command. In the end few on board actually knew him as Zokalaroo Goth.

He didn't know exactly why this bothered him so much, but it did. While many previous hosts blathered into his mind about the benefits to be found in this level of anonymity, he eagerly longed to get out of such sterile, cold company. At least where he was going he would be able to interact with real people with real names even if, as he well knew, most of them would prefer to kill him than share those names.

Not aware that Zoka wasn't paying attention, Chief went on with the last minute briefing. "The torpedo is going to enter the atmosphere at an angle, making it look like a simple meteor. As you enter atmo, the shell casing is going to get solar-hot. It may start to glow. You'll be fine encased in a localized force field along with super chilled air. Now that air is going to heat up too, so don't panic when you feel it.

"At 160.93 kilometers up, that's about 100 miles Chimp, the outer casing is going to burn off. There is an inside casing that is designed to slow your entry. Initially you'll be screaming through the sky at around 23 kilometers per second, over 51, 000 miles per hour. Once you've slowed to 800 miles per hour the force field will expand bursting the inner casing. If it all goes according to plan it will look just like a meteor broke in two and both halves incinerated in atmo.

"Once you are in free fall, arch hard! Get stable! Then use your wrist compass to get your bearings and track on an azimuth of 225 degrees. Hold that heading until you reach 10,000 feet. At that point you'll need to flare to slow your descent and to begin to scout your landing site. We reviewed three potential ones but you may have to improvise. Deploy your chute no higher than 700 feet because remember, we are doing this in full day light so you can see where you are going to come down. If our calculations are correct, you will still need to make your way south-west for another twenty or thirty miles after you hit the ground.

"There are no provisions for extraction. I have been made to understand you will make your own…'arrangements.' But are you sure you don't want Commo to fit you up with some device to let us know you landed safely before we leave? We could even hang around cloaked for a day or two?"

"Do you usually do that sort of thing on missions?" asked Zoka well aware that none of this was in the original brief.

"Never! But my operatives usually aren't little kids, either. I've followed my orders up to this point, but I sure as hell argued against them every step of the way."

It was the first and only moment of humanity Zoka had seen from Chief the entire month they spent together. It unnerved him.

"Then no," answered Zoka feeling uncomfortable over the man's emotional gesture suddenly comprehending the cold value of all the anonymity. "Just stick to the plan. Fire the torpedo and immediately break orbit."

"All right, Chimp. It's your call. Good hunting!" Chief wrapped his hard, beefy hand around Zoka's tiny one and gave it a firm shake. He then called over his shoulder, "Tech! Tuck him in and button it up. And don't forget the lullaby!"

Chief winked at Zoka before turning on his heel and leaving the torpedo bay. Tech now squatted beside the torpedo shell holding a small electronic pad in his hand.

"Alright, Chimp. Lie flat. That's it. Now with the force field. Still OK?"

"I'm good," answered Zoka somewhat amused at how the energy shield slightly muffled the noises from outside while inside he sounded as if he were speaking from the bottom of a soup can.

"Next, the chilled air gets beamed in," continued Tech tapping on his pad. "How's that?"

"C-c-cold!" shivered Zoka.

"You'll be plenty warm in a few minutes! Now to seal you in and we're done."

"Hey, Tech! Now that we are GO, I want to ask you something."?"

"What's on you mind, Chimp?"

"Why do people just smile at me when I ask if they'd ever dropped like this?"

"You're kidding, right Chimp?"

Tech looked at Zoka's face and saw he was in earnest. "Didn't anyone tell you this is a prototype? No one's ever done it before outside holo-training. We all assumed you knew you were the test monkey. Seems woe is you, _Chimp_!" The man stressed the nickname in such a way as to imply Zoka should have figured that out before now.

Without another word Tech slid the cover over the torpedo's opening and ratcheted in the seals. When he was finished Zoka heard a soft knocking on the case.

"That's it, Chimp. You are good to go. Listen. I know you got the skills so when this is over for you, find us and drop a communiqué. We are all pulling for you, so let us know you've made it. Yeah?"

There was another farewell knock followed by silence. Zoka lay inside the torpedo case and despite his best efforts could not prevent himself imagining he was lying in a coffin. Much to his relief he suddenly felt the lifting of the shell and the jostling of it being placed into the torpedo tube. Mere seconds later, he was flattened by an incredible g-force which nearly rendered him unconscious. He knew he had just been fired into open space. As suddenly as it hit him the pressure dissipated and for over a minute he slipped weightless through the void.

The respite was all too brief for Zoka as his canister unnervingly began to rattle as it entered the atmosphere. Just as Chief had described the temperature was climbing drastically. The torpedo's skin did redden, then yellowed, then began to glow so white hot that he had to shut his eyes against the brightness of it.

What began as simple turbulence was now joint jarring violence. He recalled the terror of his crash landing on the moon orbiting Celestus 8 where all this began for him and it was as nothing compared to this. If it were not for the force field encasing him, he would have been beaten to death. Even with its protection he was being slammed mercilessly against the inside of the shell.

A massive and unexpected jolt made his teeth painfully clack together and announced the outer skin had burned off and the speed dampers had engaged. That the drop was thus far going as planned did little to calm his terror. He tried to prepare himself mentally for the next phase, the free fall, but as he had no clue when it would start, it was difficult to maintain his focus on it with so much chaos going on in the interim.

Just as if he had been thrown into a lake before having the chance to take a breath he began gasping and flailing wildly as he suddenly found himself in open air. He arched as hard as he could and after a few tumbling spins settled into a controlled free-fall. From here on, all his movements would need to be made in symmetry otherwise his stable fall would collapse into flat spins or head-over-heels tumbling.

Moving his right arm under his face while offsetting its new position by sliding his left over his head and in toward the center he checked his wrist compass for the direction he was facing and his altitude. He returned to stable falling and slightly leaning his shoulders toward his hip, spun to his right, recovered and rechecked his compass. Having not achieved the desired heading of 225 degrees he repeated the turn in smaller doses until satisfied he stretched himself out in the air with pointed toes and locked joints sending him streaking across the sky.

Despite his wearing goggles his eyes watered as the wind made them sting and his cheeks flapped like the loose skin of an old man. The air blasting past him was slapping him hard and riddled him with small vibrations while roaring in his ears. Below, the ground was rushing in on him at an alarming speed. Twice he felt the need to halt his forward movement and check his altimeter and compass.

Finally the time came when he was to begin searching for a landing zone. As he was traveling over the ground he tried to identify any of the landmark features from the aerial photographs they had gone over in briefings but none of the ground below looked familiar. Just so, now that he was again in a stable arched position he was unable to recognize a single predetermined landing zone. Abandoning the attempt he started to seek any open space large enough to land.

He selected a small rectangular field surrounded by forest. It was obviously manmade and Zoka had no idea what its purpose could have been. It was much too small for farming and yet too big for a personal garden. Whatever its use, he threw his chances in with it and made his way for it.

Once closer to the ground he stopped his maneuvering just over the tree line at the western end and fell flat. Just as he had practiced, he released a small red ribbon which fell faster than he was as it unfurled. Once it was open he noticed its path took it behind him into the trees he had just passed over telling him that the wind was coming across the field towards him.

At 650 feet he popped his parachute and broke free his steering toggles. He held course straight into the wind and with a gentle thump landed neatly on the soft dirt and green grass of the field. Hastily, lest somebody had observed his landing or just happened along, he unharnessed himself from his parachute and stuffed it along with his altimeter-compass into a small duffle bag, the only other piece of equipment he had brought. Once it was all packed inside he broke a seal sewn into the seam of the bag and ran into the wood line. Taking cover behind a large tree he raised himself up just enough to see the bag over its roots.

The bag began to glow and shimmer. A high pitched whine softly began and steadily increased in volume until the bag vanished with a soft popping sound. The only tell tale sign of its ever having existed was the smallest of scorching on the ground where it had once been. Having completed the first stage of his mission he lay back against the trunk of the tree exhausted. The excitement, fear, exertion and beating of the last hour left him spent.

*You gotta move, Zoka,* the voice of Braul said.

"Now you are going to talk to me?" addressed Zoka aloud to all the symbiant's past hosts at once. "where were you all when I needed you? When I was so scared I nearly wet myself falling through the sky like some flaming meteor? No advice then? NO! But now you want to tell me I can't catch my breath?"

*You can't just lay here, Little Soldier,* the General commanded into his mind.

Zoka made an extremely rude reply with his thoughts.

*Tired or not,* an espionage officer named Hailene chimed in, *you have got to keep moving. If you stop, you die.*

In an instant he knew that was exactly how Hailene had died in some war long ago. No waiting for the symbiont to share the details, Zoka forced himself to his feet in resignation and set off on part two of the mission. Cutting through the forest and across the occasional field he felt he was eating up those remaining miles Chief told him about in good time. Occasionally he had to duck out of sight from farm workers or others on the road. Gradually, however, these encounters were becoming more frequent and ultimately it made little sense to keep off the main roads any longer.

He stepped out into the open lane and set out without a single vehicle in sight. It was a pleasant walk through very pastoral countryside. The sun was warm but a gentle breeze kept it from being a misery. For a few brief moments he relaxed and forgot the mission long enough to enjoy the open countryside. It had been a long time since he was just a boy on a walk; a long time since Goth had just let him be.

He walked until he spied a farmhouse in a small valley just above a thin river. There were many smaller buildings scattered near the house and across the river were milk cows, sheep, and open fields. It wasn't quite dusk, but it was not far off either. He could either continue his journey or stop for the night in one of the barns and set out again in the morning. Goth was again silent, meaning the choice was entirely up to him.

Worn out from the adrenaline high he had experienced earlier and the long day of walking besides, he decided he'd done enough. Besides, it would much easier to get settled into a secluded hay bin while he still had some evening light to work by. Of course that meant he'd have to be extra careful because the better he could see, the easier he could be seen.

Cautiously he maneuvered his way up to one of the hay barns and satisfied it was empty ducked inside. Creeping through the shadows brought on by the dying day he clambered over the top of a haystack and once on the backside slope of it burrowed down to pass the night.

Working by sense of feel he pulled a field ration bar out of his pants cargo pocket and peeled back the wrapper. He had just taken a bite when a voice rasped through the darkness from an adjacent hay stack, "You stay where you are kid. I don't mind sharing this barn but if you come near me or my stuff in the night, I'll kill you."

Zoka stopped chewing and listened intensely but the mysterious other had gone silent leaving just his hunkering down into the straw to be heard.

Zoka resumed his chewing. Only being able to stand a quarter of the gritty, mud tasting food bar he rewrapped the remaining chunk to save for his breakfast. He too burrowed deeper into the straw when as an afterthought he called softly over to the other, "Hey!"

"What?" asked the other gruffly.

"If you snore, I'll kill _you_!"

There came a gentle chuckle in response before silence descended on the barn.

Early in the morning Zoka listened to the soft rustling of the straw as the other slithered his way over to where he had spent the night. An hour earlier Hailene woke him from his sleep and urged him to take position in the rafters above. Moving cautiously, with the former spy's coaching streaming through his brain Zoka soundlessly achieved a perch just over where he had lain the night. Now, he watched smirking as the dark form crept to that very spot.

In the dawning light Zoka discovered the creeper was a wiry teenager, either Romulan or Vulcan. Romulans were fairly sparse this far away from the boundaries of their empire. On the other hand, the behavior he was witnessing clashed garishly against the Vulcan reputation for emotional control and application of logic.

Suddenly the boy stopped and stood straight admitting, "I feel your eyes upon me, Trill!"

"You are lucky you can't feel my knife between your ribs," boasted Zoka.

The boy smirked. It was both an insulting taunt and a challenge.

*Just drop down on his head there and teach 'im to belay that guff,* recommended Plax.

"I was looking for food, not a fight. I am of course willing to pay," the pointy-eared boy cajoled hefting a small bag of coins.

"Sure you were," sniped Zoka as he tossed half his leftover food bar to him.

He snatched the bar out of the air and looking at it momentarily, he broke out in a hearty laugh.

"Guess that answers that," said Zoka as he dropped back to the barn floor taking care to stay well out of the others reach.

"Answers what?" asked the boy.

"You're no Vulcan, laughing like that. So all that remains is to explain what a Romulan kid is doing this side of the neutral zone.

"But I am Vulcan! My name is Gang-Pa."

"I'm Zoka, short for Zokalaroo, and you are lying. No Vulcan would ever bust out laughing like that."

Gang-Pa smiled as he seated himself on the straw and took a bite of the food bar. Zoka squatted on his haunches still warily eying this odd Vulcan, not believing for one second he really was one. Yet, the idea of an unaccompanied Romulan was just as incredulous.

"OK. I'll bite. Just how is it that you are a Vulcan if you obviously give your emotions plenty of room to roam? I mean, doesn't that kill your species or something like that?"

Gang-Pa smiled dryly, "Hardly."

"Well?" demanded Zoka beginning to find the boy's staccato answers irritating.

"Vulcans are famous for being the most arrogant snobs in the universe. Naturally those of us who are unable or, as in my case, unwilling to adopt their strict discipline of logic and stoicism are quickly labeled as mentally defective. It is all about keeping up appearances!

"Those like me are institutionalized as children and are either arrested or ostracized as adults. I had enough of the institutionalization part of that life so decided I'd start the ostracism early."

"I never knew about that," said Zoka unable to hide the disappointment he felt. He had always admired the Vulcans. It never occurred to him that the Vulcans had so much as prisons, let alone mental institutions.

"They don't exactly announce it from the mountain tops. Nobody ever pairs crazies with Vulcan society. Even if they did, they'd leave it to the Vulcans to determine their own diagnosis symptoms and…treatment."

Gang-Pa spat the last word so violently that Zoka got the clear impression that his companion's experiences were unpleasant.

"Where you headed?" Zoka asked, changing the subject.

"Logically, I assume the same place you are." Gang-Pa began to chuckle ten broke out in a hearty laughter. Despite it being unnerving to see a Vulcan behave like this, Zoka found the humorous nature of this particular Vulcan somehow endearing. He obviously was a fun loving guy and the boy in Zoka found it alluring.

"And just where might that be?" asked Zoka chuckling along with his newfound companion.

"Why, to the stronghold of you countryman, Mordan Lot! Surely you must be headed there to make your fortune as one of his gladiators fighting in the Orion Syndicate's circuit just as I am! I may not be a traditional Vulcan, but I'm no fool."

"You're right," confirmed Zoka, seeing no reason to lie about his intentions. "What say we journey together?"

"That would be…_logical_!" answered Gang-Pa before erupting in raucous laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

One Year Later

"I was ordered to report to the holo-suites?" asked Dax as she stepped next to Commander Kira.

"Yes, Dax. It seems Quark is having a bit of a problem with holo-suite three," Kira explained.

"How does that involve me?" Ezri asked confused.

"How?" interrupted Quark. "I'll show you how! Computer! Open the door to holo-suite three."

The computer's mechanical yet feminine voice answered, "Unable to comply. Voice recognition authorization required."

"And whose voice do you need?" Quark said, his voice dripping with nasty sarcasm.

"Counselor Ezri Dax voice recognition required," the computer replied.

The Ferengi looked impatiently at her.

"What do you expect me to do about it? I didn't lock the stupid door!" she snapped defensively.

"No," called Chief O'Brien, head and shoulders inside an access panel at Ezri's feet, "but I believe you can open it. It'll take me years just to figure out the encryption algorithm used. It would be much easier if you can command the computer to open the doors."

"I'll give it a try. Computer! Open the door to holo-suite three."

The doors immediately hissed open.

"Damn!" exclaimed O'Brien.

"What's wrong chief?" asked Kira.

"All the memory space allocated to the lock-out is being overwritten with random bits. It will be totally unrecoverable before I can do anything to stop it."

"So the code trace is gone?" Kira asked in irritation.

"That's right, Commander. If we are to find out who did this, it will have to be from some other clue. This one is totally destroyed."

"That's just great!" she snapped before turning to enter the holoprogram.

Ezri followed her in and, once Quark and O'Brien had entered, the doors hissed shut again as the room shimmered. With a feeling of unsettling déjà vu, Ezri was suddenly standing on a grassy hillock overlooking a rocky beach. She recognized the surroundings as her home world of Trill, but all the cities and technology was gone.

Before her an ancient long boat was beached on the shore. A youth clad in fur and leather garments sprang from its high, carved bow and trotted toward them. Her heart elated at the sight of the boy at the same moment sank knowing she was going to catch hell for his stunt.

"Zokalaroo!" she cried in exasperation as he joined them.

"Not quite, Sis!" he laughed.

Ezri had the sudden recollection of Zoka telling her that Goth's first host was a water cruising barbarian from her peoples very distant past. She realized this was his way of authenticating what was going on as being legitimately created by Zoka's hand.

"He's a hologram," confirmed O'Brian who had activated his tricorder as soon as the program started to run.

"A hologram!" Kira barked. "Dax. This is the second time your little brother has disrupted protocol on this station. The first was, I won't say a lark because of the covert operations implications, but whatever it was, I was willing to let it slide because it was relatively insignificant. But this had better be pretty damned important!"

Dax was sorely tempted to snark, "Or else…what?" but decided it best not to. Instead she addressed the holo image of Zoka asking, "What's this all about?"

"It all has to do with a symbiont named Mordan. You can look him up in history starting with Mordan Partha."

Ezri made an audible gasp at the name.

"That name mean something to you?" asked Kira.

"Yes," she rasped. Turning back to the boy she said, "Zoka, I am going to have to tell them everything."

There was a long pause before Zoka answered. When he did it was simply to inform Ezri that the program was very simplistic and that from this point on she had to do what she felt was right.

"But first, you must know. I found him and when I left it was to hunt him down. It has been over a year and since I haven't made it back to DS9 to disable this program I can only assume the hunt has gone badly.

"This will go against everything positive for your career, I am certain of that! But it seems I am in need of rescue. If you decide the sacrifice is too great, I'll understand. On the other hand, if you choose to help, start with the Frengi, Quark. He put me in touch with my first contact and can get you started too. I'll have left clues where I could. At least that's the plan here at the onset."

Ezri wheeled on Quark and grabbed him by his lapels, yelling, "What have you done?"

"Nothing! He paid me to give him a name so I did. He never told me why he wanted that name or what his plans were!"

With a ferociousness she didn't know she possessed she hurled Quark to the ground before O'Brien and Kira could stop her.

"Jadzia is urging me to let her snap your foul neck!" she growled. "But I need you. You will give me that name and everything else you know about where Zokalaroo has gone!"

Quark sprang to his feet just as angry. "I'll tell you everything I know but why don't you start, because the first thing I know is that this whole brother lie is just some game you and that boy cooked up. I was there, remember!

And before you go trying to intimidate me think hard about just who or what that brat is! Sure, you may threaten to kill me and maybe you can do it. Then again, maybe you can't! You might know a few of Jadzia's Klingon moves but you're not Jadzia! Not even close!

"That pretend brother of yours, on the other hand? He's a true killer. I never doubted it since I first laid eyes on him. He could kill me and make my body simply disappear," Quark snapped his fingers sharply, "never to be found. So yes, _maybe_ you will kill me. But he definitely would have if I didn't do what he asked and kept silent about it."

"What in the hell is going on here!" demanded Kira. "I want the whole story and damn-it, I want it now!"

A tense two hours of explanations later, in the commander's office Ezri and Dr. Bashir were both locked at attention while being chewed thoroughly out by Kira as a nervous Quark cast panicked glances at all present.

"And the real pearl in all this is now I have to figure out just what to do? Obviously I can't just overlook the incident because there is a kid out there needing rescue. So I have got to take action, of course that means the total unprofessional behavior on you part will come to light and I, as commander will be expected to deal with it.

"You are Starfleet officers, so I could simply turn you over to them. Tell me, Doctor, where would that leave your brilliant career?"

"Ruined, I should think, Commander," answered Bashir dryly. "And Dax's, as well," he added just to be thorough. Ezri swallowed hard.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Kira. "So that leaves me Bajoran military justice but as soon as it gets out this level of insubordination and dereliction of duty, which is exactly what this is, happened under my command, I'll be the one drummed out. This post is as much a political one as strategic. I've already got enemies trying to oust me so their party can get the prestige of this command. You two have all but served my head up to them on a golden plate!"

Kira threw herself into the commanders chair behind the desk and began massaging her

temples.

"Get your butts out of my office until I decide what to do. You are all confined to quarters until further notice."

"Commander! I protest!" cried Quark. "I'm a civilian! You can't confine me to quarters as if I were one of your troops!"

"Security!" yelled Kira.

Two brawny Bajorans entered her office.

"Quark is confined to quarters. If he doesn't cooperate, drag him there by his heels. Once there, if he attempts to leave…shoot him!"

Turning her gaze on Dax and Bashir she asked, "I assume I can trust the two of you not to make those orders necessary on your part?"

"No, commander," said Dax meekly.

"Then get out of my sight," Kira growled.

For the next two weeks the trio languished in their quarters. Each day, at separate hours, they were beamed to the holosuites for exercise. Otherwise they went no where and saw no one. The agony they suffered was unique to each of them. Bashir felt as if he were being driven mad with the lack of mental stimulation. Quark paced his room until the carpet was threadbare, worrying about his bar. Ezri simply stared out her window at the myriad of stars wondering on which point of light Zoka was trapped, and if he were even still alive. Every day she felt as a deeply lost opportunity to mount that rescue he seemed so certain he needed.

Finally they found themselves beamed directly into Kira's office. She looked grave and obviously the intervening days were just as tough on her.

"Back in Bajor's feudal era," she began slowly, "there was a military tradition called Fane Tuke that would test the loyalty of officers suspected of treason. It translates almost literally as 'Trial By Fire'. It hasn't been invoked in over a thousand years but, as I recently discovered, it is still on the books. I doubt my using it now will be looked kindly upon but there is no way to stop me. Holding the rank of Commander, it is in my right!"

She said that last bit more as if trying to convince herself than the others. It left the trio feeling ill at ease.

"What, exactly," drawled Dr. Bashir, "does this trial consist of?"

"You and Dax will confess to being traitors to both the Bajoran people and Starfleet. Quark, you will confess to be a traitor to Bajor and Farenginar."

"I'll do no such thing!" exclaimed Quark.

"Then you will have your bar confiscated and you go to prison. Odo left me more than enough evidence to have you locked away for the rest of you slimy life," Kira fired back in a voice so cold no one doubted her.

"You three will then go on a secret mission, one you are not supposed to survive. If you return, your record is cleared and all accusations dropped. If, however, it is ever discovered you are on a mission, if you fail, or if you die, your records remain unaltered and you will be forever remembered as traitors."

"Your other alternative is to be turned over to Starfleet, have your careers end in disgrace and possibly serve some length of prison sentences. What is more, there will be no rescue attempt made for Zokalaroo. Quark, you still go to prison."

"And the mission?" asked Dax looking at her fingernails she was nervously preening.

Kira swallowed hard. "You are to rescue Zokalaroo Goth."

An uncharacteristic tear rolled over Kira's cheek. "From what I have been able to find out about the Mordan symbiote from Trill history, he is a monster. Couple that cruelty and lust for power with the resources of the Orion syndicate and, well, I don't think I'll ever be seeing any of you again."

She briskly slapped away the tear and continued, "So there it is. You have your choices to make. Let me know by 19:30 hours. After that, I turn you over to the authorities I just mentioned. Return to your quarters."


End file.
